Almost A Romeo And Juliet Story
by pleaseallowme
Summary: The man, the man that had so heartlessly shot him was most definitely Greg House, his confidant, his best friend, and for the past three months, his lover. OneShot! HOUSEWILSON


Prologue

On September 16th, James Wilson was shot, twice, once in his right arm, and once in his chest. It happened at exactly 11:24 at night, outside Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, in the parking lot actually. He was still conscious as he lay on the pavement. His body and mind were in shock. He didn't feel the pain, he had no sense of the blood flowing from his body, and he only knew two things at that moment. He knew that he was crying for the first time in a long time. And he knew who had shot him. He could see the figure of the man standing over him. The man had quickly stashed the gun in his pocket. No one saw what happened, but people were already starting to arrive at the scene. The gun shots gave it away.

The man, the man that had so heartlessly shot him was most definitely Greg House, his confidant, his best friend, and for the past three months, his lover. And now as Wilson struggled to hold onto any breath he had, he watched House drop to his knees, despite the pain in his leg. He bowed his head into his hands, rocking back and forth, crying along with Wilson. Together, the sounds they made were that of the saddest song you could ever hear.

While they wheeled him through the halls of the hospital, prepping the room at the end for surgery, everyone whispered there suspicions as, house walked as fast as he could beside the stretcher, knowing all too well of the still warm gun in his pocket.

Seconds before they were to be parted, Wilson opened his eyes and stared up at him. House couldn't help but cry, and was more than surprised when Wilson smiled at him through his tears. He opened his mouth slightly to speak, not just to House, but to everyone around them.

"House-"he started, gasping for air even after one word. Everyone leaned forward to hear him.

"House tried to stop him. He tried to save me." He said softly, shutting his eyes again.

House couldn't move. He didn't believe that Wilson had said that. He knew that for certain things, Wilson would lie, cheat, even steal for him. He cared about House more then himself and he wanted to protect him. But this time House didn't want to be protected. He wanted to scream. "It was me! I shot him!" But he just stood there. He couldn't move. And he certainly couldn't speak. He couldn't even cry anymore.

House rapped his fingers around the top of his cane. Holding it so tight that his knuckles turned white and his hand lost all sensation. He wasn't angry. Not at anyone in particular, more at himself.

He had been at work for an hour that Monday morning. He had seen no one, done nothing, and sat in his office the entire time. He was early, ridiculously early for him, a little early to everyone else. He was there before his team was, so he had no choice but to wait.  
The grip on his cane became tighter as he switched hands. He had the blank expression on his face that made him look pissed off about something, but really; this was the look he had when he didn't know what to feel. He just stared out the glass doors at the pretty red haired nurse in purple scrubs who was running through some paper work with Wilson who had been on his way to see House.

His grip loosened, but only because he was out of energy to put into it. He stared out still, but not at the pretty red haired nurse, truth was he was never really staring at her. He had been staring at Wilson, but the nurse was a really good cover.

House took in every movement Wilson made, when he put his hands on his hips in that 'boy-wonder' way, when he put his right hand deep into the pocket of his white jacket, when he shifted the weight from his left foot to right, and when he rubbed his neck, glimpsing over to House in a sort of 'help me' way.

He snickered as he grabbed his cane from off the desk and limped over to the door. He knew Wilson didn't really want to be talking to her. He knew that simply by the way Wilson had been looking at him for the past couple of weeks. If House hadn't have been looking at him the same way, it would have made him feel uncomfortable.

The looks they had been giving on another were simple. For Wilson it was the fact that he needed to feel needed. And he came to the realization that the only time he ever felt that way completely was when he was with House. So when Wilson gave him a look or a deep eye gaze it was because he wanted to let House know it was ok. That he could need him as long as he wanted and he would still be there.

For House, it was something that he had been trying to convince himself out of for a while. He had spent a lot of time with Wilson over the years. And he knew him better then anyone. It seemed logical to House that knowing him, and appreciating him, and caring for him added up to slight feelings for him, awkward romantic feelings that he had been trying to repress. And when he gave Wilson looks he was trying to say, 'I like you but I don't want to like you. Tell me you like me first.' It was juvenile, but that's the way he was.

He opened the door from his office and smiled at the nurse. "Dr. Wilson I need you for a moment." He said politely.

Wilson sighed in relief that he had just saved him from a conversation about the nurse and her three cats. He smiled and nodded to the nurse before walking past House into the office.

House made a serious face. "I mean, I really, really, need him." He said in a rather seductive tone, closing his eyes pretending (well, as far as she could tell) to be aroused. This made the nurse uncomfortable, so she walked away.

Wilson was sitting on the couch when House came back in and closed the door.

"Your here very early. May I ask why?" Wilson was curious.

House limped back to his chair and sat down letting out a small grunt of discomfort.

"My apartment's flooded." He said knowing full well this would cause stress for Wilson all day.

"What? How did that happen? What was ruined? Do you need anything replaced? Should I take you shopping on the weekend? You're going to need so many new things. Water damage is terrible it ruins everything. You'll need a sofa and coffee table, and oh, we need to make a list." Wilson grabbed the pad of paper from off the table beside him and brought a pen out from his pocket.

House wasn't lying entirely. There had been a slight flood in his bathroom that morning around 5:30. He had gotten up to get himself a glass of water and when he turned on the tap, the pipe underneath the sink cracked a little from the water pressure. It took House an hour and a half to get someone to his home to repair it, and by that time there was quiet a bit of water on the floor. But he had cleaned it up, and was unable to go back to bed.

Wilson continued writing things down and making expressions of concern for his friend. House just smiled and watched him make arrangements and plans to help him out. Wilson was that kind of friend to him. Sure, he cared about everyone to a certain extent, but for House he would do anything.

"Don't worry about it. I'm going to have to move anyway. I'm pretty sure one of the hookers stole my watch. She probably went back and told her pimp about all the nice stuff I have." He said leaning back in his chair.

Wilson admittedly looked a little upset at the mention of hookers. He hated how House always ran to a hooker, but now more then ever he didn't even think he could take it.

"Your apartment isn't really flooded is it?" He asked setting the paper and pen down and standing up.

House smirked. "Sure it is. Why would I lie?" He tried to look innocent.

Wilson folded his arms. "Everybody lies, remember?" He reminded him, of his almost favorite saying.

"I wouldn't lie to you." He said softly looking serious all of a sudden.

Wilson didn't know if he was just being smart, or if he was serious. It was always so hard to tell with House.

"How bad was the flood?" Wilson asked raising his eyebrows.

House sighed. "Not bad. I managed to clean it up, so don't worry about it."

Wilson's face instantly calmed when he realized there wasn't much he could do about the flood now, and that it was all taken care of…without him. He knew there would be another problem or issue House would have sometime soon, maybe even today, and that made him excited for some reason. House's neediness was beginning to turn him on after all these years.

"What?" House asked while he watched Wilson stare into space.  
Wilson coughed lightly, erasing any thought of being turned on by House. "What?" He asked back.

House had a very questioning look about him now. "What is wrong with you?" He was very blunt.

"Nothing, why?" Wilson took a seat in one of the chairs in front of House's desk.

"Either you're thinking of something very intensely, or you're trying to hold in a fart. And I don't know how many times I have to tell you to just let it out. Set it free. You don't see me caring about things like that." He said light-heartedly.

Wilson frowned. "You don't care about many things House."

House frowned along with Wilson. "I care about some things."

"Like what? Besides your Vicodin." It was almost a challenge to see if House could come up with anything.

House pretend to be perplexed, as he thought about the things he really cared about. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I care about plenty of things, thank you very much."

Obviously House wasn't going to offer anymore information then that. But Wilson was determined to find out what he truly cared about. They had had many conversations about things that were important to one another. And Wilson usually did most of the talking. House wasn't the kind of person that would just divulge that information, even to Wilson.

"I don't mean to get all mushy with you but, I am your friend, and telling friends what you care about most is what normal friendships are about." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck.

House scoffed. "Since when has this been a normal friendship?"

Wilson stood up just then. There was nothing else he wanted to say to him. House was going to be an ass today. Why did he expect anything different? He half hoped every morning that when he got into work it would be a little different with House. That he maybe would want to talk about the serious things. But that never happened. And in a way it was a disappointment every day to find that his friend hadn't changed, but at the same time, House's flaws, sarcastic demeanor, and his utterly bastard-like ways were the reason he was friends with him. House was never dull and everyday was something knew with him.

"Where are you going?" House asked.

"I'm going to my office. I have some work to do. The rest of your team will be here any minute." Wilson didn't want to be in that room with him anymore.

House just nodded his head absently.

Later that morning, the rest of his team did arrive. They had a new case from Cuddy, a twenty-five year old man, Michael Dolan. He arrived in the E.R. with severe weakness and fatigue. House was already bored of the case. Twenty-five year old males were the healthier of the species.

"This is boring. Send it back to Cuddy." He said tossing the file back onto the table.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Chase is already running a test for peripheral neuropathy."

"Why?" House raised his eyebrows.

Foreman sighed. "Because if that's what he has, we can treat him."

"What makes you think he has that?" House took a sip of his coffee.

"If you'd have read his chart, you would see that he has been losing weight very rapidly and has had some numbness in his right arm, and left foot. It's random but treatable."

House took another sip. "I know that. Even if he does test positive for peripheral neuropathy, there's almost always an underlining cause as to why he has it."

"Not always." Foreman said.

"That's why I said almost always. If he's positive, treat him for it, but keep him in." House walked to the door.

"Why?" Foreman was confused.

House opened the door and leaned his head back to answer. "No reason."

House decided to get Wilson's expert opinion after he'd received the test results from Cameron in the hallway. She was sweet as usual, saying nothing more then a 'hello' while handing him the paperwork. Her tone aggravated him for some reason. He took the results, which were positive, and walked into Wilson's office without knocking as usual.

Wilson was reading a book, a rather large leather-bound book. He was taking notes, and to House he looked like a kid studying for a test at school. He smiled to himself, and didn't say anything as he waited for Wilson to speak first.

"Yes?" Wilson was in professional mode.

He watched House lean against the wall, holding his cane with both hands. House wasn't smiling, but he didn't look angry either, which was a good sign. Wilson wondered if he should smile at him, or would that be too awkward? They were both just waiting for someone to make the first move. Not just about their present pending conversation, but about their life, and most recently, these very near love-like feelings.

"I have a patient, 25, male, tested positive for peripheral neuropathy." His eyes never left Wilson's and they were beginning to pierce him, so he had to look away.

"Uh, and?" They were fully staring at each other. The conversation about a patient had quickly turned to a staring contest. The loser would have to admit they loved the other.

"And what? I was just telling you about my patient. You could be a little more sympathetic, peripheral neuropathy can be very painful." He stepped closer to Wilson's desk, as Wilson stood up.

"Well I see this is going no where. So are you ready to tell me about what you care about? Or should I bring this to Cameron? I'm sure she thinks she has a pretty good idea." Wilson rolled down his sleeves.

"Your need for having to talk about every little thing is very distressing." House said pretending to be agonized.

"If you tell me now, I won't mention it again." His mouth made a promise, but his eyes clearly showed that he was lying.

House walked out, heading for his office, and Wilson followed him.

House knew he had to say something. Throw him a bone or he would be hearing about this forever. He debated in his head what to say. He didn't want to sound like a needy asshole, but he knew he had to say something good.

"I care about my piano."

"And?"

"My motorcycle."

"And?"

"And how many more times are you going to say and after I say something?"

"Until you stop lying and tell me what you really care about."

House took a deep breath in and scanned Wilson over with his eyes. "I care about…you. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Wilson was smiling. It was a ridiculously amazing smile. "I care about you too House."

"Let's not get all 'after school special', Ok?" He was trying to avoid what he wanted to do next.

Wilson nudged a little closer to House's desk, and House looked around as if he didn't notice, but he noticed, and instantly shifted a little in his chair, easing himself ready to stand. He thought about what would happen if he did stand up and maneuvered himself in front of Wilson. The thoughts were running through his head rapidly. Would it end with Wilson walking away nervously? Would they hug? Or maybe even kiss? He didn't know which would be appropriate. He was notably a bit scared of this, which was very, very unlike him. But he had to know. So with one, uneven movement he grabbed his cane which was leaning beside his desk, and stood up, walking wirily to stand in front of Wilson who hadn't moved as he watched this.

There were no words either of them could say. They just stood facing each other, very close, so close they could feel the warmth that the other was giving off. Wilson stared at House who was desperately trying to find the right things to say, or do. He could tell by his face that this was definitely hard for him. It was hard for Wilson too, but he was so sure that this was right, that he was able to hide it better.

Not a moment before Wilson was about to finally speak, House leaned in ever so slowly and brushed his lips over Wilson's and brought them over to kiss his jaw line gently. The feeling of House's stubble on his face was not as rough as he thought it was going to be. It was a feeling of closeness that he never thought he would have with House.

Wilson began to furiously search for House's lips with his own just then, and suddenly they were locked in a powerful kiss that each of them through themselves into. House dropped his cane from his hand, and Wilson heard it make a thump as it hit the ground, but he didn't dare break from House, for fear that this would be it. House then brought both hands to Wilson face and traced his cheek bones with his thumbs, and ran his hands through his hair.

House was the first to break away. He was smirking as he pulled away from Wilson, who was blushing like a grade-school girl.

"How's the hotel room treating you?" House asked out of the blue, picking up his cane and walking back behind his desk as though nothing happened.

Wilson was still a little dazed, but managed to answer. "It's alright I guess. It wouldn't be my first choice to live. What just happened?"

"We kissed. Come live with me." House went straight to the point.

"We kiss once and you want me to come stay with you again?"

"I want you to come live with me. There's a big difference there Jimmy. And I was kind of hoping that wouldn't be the first and last time we kiss."

"Live with you? Like what? Your boyfriend?"

House had to chuckle at that. Wilson had to have an answer for everything. "Yeah"

Wilson smiled, obviously pleased with this. "Talk about after school special."

"A really inappropriate, homoerotic after school special. Jimmy, let's go home now." House pleaded a bit with him.

"It's still early. And you have a patient." Wilson was clearly the sensible one.

"Home. Now. With. You." House said walking from around his desk over to the coat rack.

"I'll get my stuff. I'll meet you in the parking lot." Wilson walked past him, sliding his hand around House's back, hoping it was ok. And it was.

"You're crazy to want this, even for a little while." House called to him when he was already down the hall.

All Wilson did was wave his hand back. He knew it was true. He was crazy. With his track record and just the way House was in general, the odds of them working out was damn near impossible, but they both figured it was worth a shot.

The bedroom was the first room they visited when they got home. House was already hard, which showed violently through the thin corduroys he was wearing. And Wilson was quickly on his way to being hard as House leaned in for a kiss that was passionate yet rough. House took off his belt quicker then he thought he could, and slide his pants and boxers down gently, exposing the horrible disfiguring scar that most, if not all, women would either look away from in disgust, or work their way around it, being afraid to touch it, like it was contagious. Even the hookers he'd been with had hated looking at it, and it was their job to accept the unaccepted, in a way.

Wilson took his pants and boxers off too, and while he stepped out of them, House began loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. The two men were in a quick rampage of undressing that would have impressed anyone.

House was the first to sit on the bed, his leg facing away from Wilson, who had never really seen what the outcome was of it. He never saw the scar, and House never offered to show him or even tell him about it. Wilson did see it from afar once though, he can't remember the circumstances that led up to it, but he had.

The floor creaked as Wilson walked over in front of House who laid his hand in his leg in a final attempt to hide it from Wilson. But Wilson didn't care what it looked like, or horrible it was. The scar was part of House, and he loved it. He took House's hand and removed it away from the leg. Then he took his own hand and traced the curves and indents of his scar, and he watched as House flinched, then relaxed underneath his gentle touch.

Wilson looked up at House and smiled before he leaned down and softly kissed his leg before moving up to his cock, where he loosely put a hand around it and began to tug and rub and the same time. He handled it as if it was the most valuable thing in the world. House let out a small moan before gripping the sheets because Wilson was just so damn good at this, House could barely stand it.

Soon after Wilson's mouth was around House cock, letting his pre-cum run down his chin, which only made House more aroused. Wilson could feel him shaking a bit with every moan he let out, so he teased him a bit with the tip of his tongue. And as Wilson's grip grew a bit tighter, he could hear the smallest of whimpers escape from House's mouth. And when House came, all over Wilson's soft hazel hair, he was loud, louder then Wilson had expected. His moans were sharp, and his expression was that of ecstasy, which made Wilson smile as he stood up again, still keeping his hand on the scar, that House had at first been so self-conscious of at first.

House returned the pleasure to Wilson who lay on the bed. It was the same with him as it was with House, only Wilson was able to thrust his pelvis back and forth with every flick of House's wrist on his cock. He came onto House's hand and continued smiling during the entire thing. And they didn't need to fuck, this wasn't about that.

Three Months Later

They were like, the perfect couple. House was still a bastard, but he was softening around the edges thanks to Wilson. And Wilson was completely excepting of everything House did, or didn't do for that matter.

They still hadn't fucked, and didn't plan to. That part never needed to take place to make the relationship real. They kissed, and touched, and held each other and that was enough for them. House would often try and make breakfast for Wilson who liked to sleep in as long as possible, but he would usually burn whatever he was making. Wilson would sometimes get up to help him, or get up on his own to make breakfast. They were both happy with coffee, but still continued the charade of making breakfast for the other.

Wilson would eat lunch in his office with House everyday, while they talked about their plans for the weekend, or which movie they would rent that night. They would ride to and from work together, listening to some classic rock CD that Wilson had bought for House for their one month anniversary. They would stay in at night mostly. Wilson did all the evening cooking, on the days they didn't order in. They would share a 6er of beer and watch television as they would have before, the only difference was that they often would cuddle close to one another, stealing kisses during commercials.

Everything was perfect for both of them. Neither had ever been this happy, and House had even cut back on the Vicodin. Everything was perfect, until one evening when they were wrapped in each other on the couch watching some re-run of the O.C, when the phone rang.

"Yeah?" House said loudly into the receiver smiling over at Wilson.

"Is James there?" The lady on the other end asked.

"Who's this?" House looked down at Wilson who began to sit up.

"Melanie, you must be Greg, I'm the new girl he's been seeing, and it's nice to finally talk to you." She said in a very cheery tone.

House began to shake and slammed the receiver down. How the hell could this have happened?

"Who was that?" Wilson asked innocently.

"Melanie."

"Oh."

"That's all you have to say? Oh? How long has this been going on Wilson? How fucking long?" House screamed.

"I was going to tell you. I've been seeing her on and off for about a month and a half. I'm sorry"

"Things were good Wilson, for the first time, things were actually good. And why the hell would tell her about me?"

"Things are good. You're still my friend. I wanted her to know about you. I'm confused right now ok?"

"Where's the confusion?" The anger was rising in House's voice.

"I didn't know if I was really ready to be with you. For Christ sake we haven't even had sex."

"It wasn't about the sex Jimmy." House was screaming now.

"I broke it off with her the other day, she didn't take it well. I don't know why she called here, or even how she got this number. It's over Greg, I won't see her again. I swear it." Wilson was near tears now.

"Why the fuck would I think you would change for me? You're still the same cheating fuck as before."

Wilson got up at that comment and put on his jacket, taking off to the only place he knew would accept him at that moment, the hospital, leaving House in a crazy jealous rage.

It took only minutes before House was behind him trailing on his motorcycle. They both rushed their vehicles into the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital parking lot. House sat on his bike for a while as he watched Wilson get out of his car and zip up his jacket.

There was a small compartment in the back of his motorcycle where House had conveniently hid a small handgun for protection. And as he reached for it, he justified his following actions as protecting his heart.

And so, on September 16th, James Wilson was shot, twice, once in his right arm, and once in his chest. It happened at exactly 11:24 at night, outside Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, in the parking lot actually. He was still conscious as he lay on the pavement. His body and mind were in shock. He didn't feel the pain, he had no sense of the blood flowing from his body, and he only knew two things at that moment. He knew that he was crying for the first time in a long time. And he knew who had shot him. He could see the figure of the man standing over him. The man had quickly stashed the gun in his pocket. No one saw what happened, but people were already starting to arrive at the scene. The gun shots gave it away.

The man, the man that had so heartlessly shot him was most definitely Greg House, his confidant, his best friend, and for the past three months, his lover. And now as Wilson struggled to hold onto any breath he had, he watched House drop to his knees, despite the pain in his leg. He bowed his head into his hands, rocking back and forth, crying along with Wilson. Together, the sounds they made were that of the saddest song you could ever hear.

While they wheeled him through the halls of the hospital, prepping the room at the end for surgery, everyone whispered there suspicions as, house walked as fast as he could beside the stretcher, knowing all too well of the still warm gun in his pocket.

Seconds before they were to be parted, Wilson opened his eyes and stared up at him. House couldn't help but cry, and was more than surprised when Wilson smiled at him through his tears. He opened his mouth slightly to speak, not just to House, but to everyone around them.

"House-"he started, gasping for air even after one word. Everyone leaned forward to hear him.

"House tried to stop him. He tried to save me." He said softly, shutting his eyes again.

House couldn't move. He didn't believe that Wilson had said that. He knew that for certain things, Wilson would lie, cheat, even steal for him. He cared about House more then himself and he wanted to protect him. But this time House didn't want to be protected. He wanted to scream. "It was me! I shot him!" But he just stood there. He couldn't move. And he certainly couldn't speak. He couldn't even cry anymore.

He waited patiently for over three hours until a doctor wearing blue scrubs came out holding his mask. He sat down across from House and delivered the news. It came out cold and emotionless, just as he wanted.

"I'm sorry, we did all we could."

That's all House needed to hear. He took off into the room where Wilson's body waited to be taken downstairs. It had all happened so fast. But this was it for House. He remembered when they had first gotten together three months ago. Their relationship coincided with one of House's hardest cases. The man with peripheral neuropathy had been fully diagnosed with Waldenström macroglobulinemia and died shortly after.

He reached into his pant pocket and pulled out his bottle of Vicodin just then, and as he sat beside Wilson's corpse, he dry swallowed each of the remaining 35 pills one-by-one.

He died within twenty minutes lying beside Wilson, holding his hand, and praying that all was forgiven and that they would be together again. 


End file.
